


The Girl Who Loved Death

by chocolatentropy



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9294158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatentropy/pseuds/chocolatentropy
Summary: No, she did not love death, definitely.But at age 9, Molly Hooper could not have possibly foreseen that she would one day come to fall in love with Death.





	1. Strange Little Girl

"Such a strange little girl."

 

These words, she would always hear spoken. Behind fluttering fans, as gossip. Directed at her parents, over her head, as if she were not there and could not hear. Straight to her face, like she needed their opinion, their validation.

 

These words, others would always utter. Some with pity. Some with horror, revulsion. Others with a sort of glee, a twisted satisfaction at seeing how this strange girl is so different, and how they are so lucky, and far superior in all their socially-accepted normalcy.

 

It was not even that she was particularly morbid. She did not _like_ death any more than the next person. Nor did she enjoy it when people or animals or even plants died.

 

She was just… _fascinated_ by it. At how this intricate creation that housed our souls (for yes, she did believe in such things), so complex and strong and endlessly awe-inspiring, could be brought to a halt and decay and eventually fall away back into the basic building blocks from whence it all came.

 

No, she did not _love_ death, definitely.

 

But at age 9, Molly Hooper could not have possibly foreseen that she would one day come to fall in love with Death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'll be working in this new project for now, I think. Sherlolly Dictionary will be on a temporary hiatus, so I'm sorry for that. I've just not had the drive to add more words, largely due to my less than positive feelings about the latest season of Sherlock. I do hope to get back on the horse soon-ish, but for now I think my efforts will be on this story. Taa ~


	2. The Little Girl and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She met Death at the cemetery. A few years into the future, when she is older, she would wryly think to herself that it was almost ridiculous how very _obvious_ that was.

She met Death at the cemetery. A few years into the future, when she is older, she would wryly think to herself that it was almost ridiculous how very _obvious_ that was.

 

But at the moment, Molly Hooper was 10, and she was just a bit annoyed at having found an intruder in her sanctuary.

 

The cemetery was her favorite spot in town, and if people saw her hanging around in there, they would just say, "Well, of course!" It would just be another box ticked in their What Makes Molly Morbid list.

 

They would always note her spending far too much time staring into coffins at wakes. On her walks to and from school, she would pick up the odd dead animal to take home and keep in jars in her room until her mother complained of the smell (she was younger then -now she knows what to put in those jars to keep the decay at bay and the smell locked in), and her classmates would remark on this "disgusting" habit, as the neighbors talk amongst each other about her mother's complaints. The librarian would shake her head at the amount of books the tiny chestnut-haired girl would borrow from the local library, ranging from literature on death (Poe was an early favorite of hers), advanced reading on biology, and, more recently, pathology. The grandmothers would scoff disapprovingly at her father's indulgence of her "hobby", at him buying her a life-sized skeleton model, her own microscope, insects preserved in glass frames, charts of anatomy.

 

Molly was not a stupid child. On the contrary, she was brighter than the kids in her grade. She was book smart, yes, but she was also very much attuned to people's emotions and interactions. If people assumed she was unaware, that was largely due to the fact that she kept her observations to herself. Had she voiced them out, they would be surprised at how eerily accurate her insights would prove.

 

Thus, she knew that the people in this town did not like her. It was because she was different, and people are comfortable with the familiar. What they did not know, what they did not understand, they were leery of. And so, Molly continued to keep her distance.

 

She knew the cemetery would be a special place for her the moment she first set foot in it. Immediately she was overcome with a feeling of tranquility, even a sense of belonging. She loved how it looked like a miniature town, one that is very quiet and from a different time, a point in time that cannot be found on any history chart on this plane of existence. She loved the huge oak trees that kept watch over everything, and how in autumn, their dead would kiss the earth upon which the dead of her kind lay in eternal slumber. She loved the wind that frolicked down pathways and corners and scattered the leaves and made them dance over graves in a celebration of life's beginning and end.

 

She loved the peace that would settle upon her mind, and at the acceptance she found among the dead that was denied her among the living.

 

All these things were familiar to her, and all these things she found at the cemetery each time she visited (which she tried to do at least thrice a week).

 

But one day Molly Hooper found that maybe she was not so different from those who scorned her, in that she took comfort in the familiar. For one day, Molly found a boy pale as bone, with eyes like moonlight upon a grave marker and a shock of midnight hair atop his tall, lanky form, and she decided that she did not like it, did not like this boy, did not like the intrusion upon her sanctuary.

 

She dropped her bag on the soft grass-covered earth, crossed her arms, and scowled at the stranger.

 

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

 

The boy looked at her, and she felt like one of the dead insects she would inspect under her microscope.

 

He opened his mouth, and the voice that came out would forever cause Molly to feel the oddest mixture of warmth and chill.

 

"I am Death. Hello, Molly Hooper"


	3. Sherlock Holmes, Grim Reaper in Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am Death. Hello, Molly Hooper"
> 
> She blinked.
> 
> Once.
> 
> Twice.
> 
> Then she collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"I am Death. Hello, Molly Hooper"

She blinked.

Once. Twice.

Then she collapsed into a fit of giggles.

When they subsided, she looked up to see an expression on his face that was half confusion, half annoyance, and she giggled again.

"Alright, 'Death'. You're funny, I like you. But what is your real name? And why do you know mine?"

The boy rolled his eyes.

"Fine. If you absolutely _must_ know, my name is Sherlock Holmes, Grim Reaper in training. And I know your name because you, Molly Hooper, are going to die."

To his consternation, this made the her giggle again.

"You silly. Of course I am. Everyone dies, eventually. It is just the when and the how of it that matters."

Sherlock Holmes, Grim Reaper in training, sputtered for a full minute before deciding to close his mouth and just glare at the girl before him. He has never met such an odd person his entire (admittedly short, thus far) career.

"Has your family just moved into town? Mine lives over the hill behind this cemetery," she said conversationally, pointing towards the back gate of the cemetery, presumably in the direction of her home.

He knitted his brows.

"What is wrong with you, foolish girl? Did you not hear what I just said? I have come to take your s-"

Just then, he was cut off by the sudden sound of a funeral march, accompanied by a buzzing sound. He fished into the pocket of his coat and took out a slim black mobile. He huffed in frustration and turned away from her as he took the call.

Molly watched the boy curiously. She couldn't remember being this amused in such a long time. She hoped the boy would come to her school as well. He looked to be a few years older than her, so he would probably be in a higher grade, but still… Maybe, just maybe, she would finally have a friend.

"What do you mean the wrong one?" He ran his hand through his curls, making the dark mop even wilder than it already was. "How many Molly Hoopers could there possibly be in -What? Bath? Agghh!" He pressed his thumb to the screen of his phone so hard she feared the glass would crack. He angrily shoved the phone back into his pocket and resumed glaring at her. "Those incompetent fools. See, this is why I would much rather work independently. The force is populated by blathering idiots. I'm only doing this to humor my brother, but one day…"

Molly had no idea what Sherlock (what a funny name to say, even in her head) was going on about, and if she were to be honest, she was at that point beginning to wonder if maybe he wasn't quite right up in the head, but before she could open her mouth to ask, he turned on his heel, coat swishing around his skinny legs.

"Until we meet again, Molly Hooper," he called out. Then, pausing, he half-turned his head and added, "because we _will_ meet again."

Then he was gone, leaving Molly standing there, hoping that it would be sooner rather than later.


	4. Death Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time she saw Death, she was fifteen and grieving.
> 
>  
> 
> He effortlessly wove his way through the crowd, and not one of them spared him a passing glance. The whole time, his eyes bore into hers with single-minded purpose.
> 
> He stopped just shy of a foot in front of her. She could see that his face changed significantly as well. It was sharper, each singular feature more pronounced, etched in stark relief. He was still bone-pale, still hauntingly beautiful, but now he had an air of self-assurance, like he knew his place in the world, and that it was anywhere he chose to be.

The next time she saw Death, she was fifteen and grieving.

 

It was all the way across a crowded school yard, but no one can tell Molly that her eyes were deceiving her. There was no mistaking that wild, wild mess of dark chocolate curls, those striking eyes of a clear blue one could see from a mile away. He had grown much taller from the last time she saw him, so tall that he was nearly a head above most of the students milling around. And, as if these things weren't enough to make him stand out, he was also wearing a midnight blue coat that would never be seen on top of their standard uniform -no one in her school would be able to afford such a coat.

 

Oddly enough, despite all this, she seemed to be the only one who has noticed him.

 

 _Now that, Molly_ , she told herself, _is just you being silly… Well, either that or he really is Death, as he claimed._ She chortled to herself.

 

He effortlessly wove his way through the crowd, and not one of them spared him a passing glance. The whole time, his eyes bore into hers with single-minded purpose.

 

He stopped just shy of a foot in front of her. She could see that his face changed significantly as well. It was sharper, each singular feature more pronounced, etched in stark relief. He was still bone-pale, still hauntingly beautiful, but now he had an air of self-assurance, like he knew his place in the world, and that it was anywhere he chose to be.

 

She stood there in her scruffy shoes, her knee socks with the left pulled down lower than the right, her school vest worn soft from so many washings, her messy ponytail with strands escaping everywhere over her face and neck.

 

She stood there in all her adolescent awkwardness and offered this cool, composed stranger a lopsided, tentative smile.

 

"Hullo."

 

His face remained impassive as he held a gloved hand out towards her.

 

"Come with me, Molly Hooper. It is time."

 

She sighed, more in resignation than anything else. Her father had died nearly a year ago, but she was still in crippling grief. Since the cancer finally won and took his life, her fascination with death bordered on obsession. She found herself wondering everyday when her turn would come. She devoured books of pathology and performed "autopsies" on whatever poor animal corpse she could get her hands on. She got into taxidermy because, really, was that not the natural next step? She frequented the cemetery everyday and thought back to that one strange encounter with the boy who called himself Death, and hoped that he'd show up again.

 

And now he's finally here.

 

She placed her hand in his, and when he closed his fingers over hers, her small hand looked completely engulfed by his much larger one.

 

He led her back across the yard, towards the front gate, and briefly, she wondered why he felt the need to take her hand. She would have followed him unquestioningly had he just asked -or rather, commanded. But she didn't mind the warmth, the comfort it provided, the human contact she has not experienced in far too long.

 

Out front, a black limousine was waiting. Releasing her hand, Sherlock opened the door and motioned for her to get in, which she did wordlessly. He went in after her and rapped a knuckle on the roof.

 

"Are you not going to ask me where I intend to take you?" he asked, eyes flitting towards her briefly before he trained them back out the window.

 

She shrugged, realized he couldn't see, then said, "You're _'Death'_ , aren't you? I think there's no question of where I'm going. I don't mind, to be honest. I've nothing left to do anyway."

 

"Wrong."

 

Surprised, she looked up at him, and found him staring at her with a frown on his face.

 

"It's quite the opposite, actually. I came for you because you have much left to do. More than you could have ever imagined." Suddenly, he smiled, and for the first time since they met, he looked like the boy she knew he was. She found herself smiling back. "Welcome, Molly Hooper, to an _adventure_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going somewhere with this, I swear I really am! -nervous laughter-
> 
> Hope you keep reading and enjoy.:)


	5. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell me, Molly Hooper, do you believe in fate?"
> 
> "Uhm… Sorry, what?"
> 
> "Fate, Molly Hooper. Destiny, if you will. A predetermined path for each human being."
> 
> For the first time since speaking, Sherlock turned to her. They locked gazes and, not for the first time, Molly felt like she was staring into a galaxy swirled into the ocean.

"Tell me, Molly Hooper, do you believe in fate?"

Molly nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden question. They had been sitting in complete silence for the better part of an hour: he, looking out the window (though she suspected he barely even noticed as the view changed from the buildings and roadways of the city to the trees and fields of the countryside, so lost in his own thoughts he was), and she, occasionally sneaking glances at the mysterious boy beside her, wondering at the strange turn of events.

"Uhm… Sorry, what?"

"Fate, Molly Hooper. Destiny, if you will. A predetermined path for each human being."

For the first time since speaking, Sherlock turned to her. They locked gazes and, not for the first time, Molly felt like she was staring into a galaxy swirled into the ocean.

He tilted his head expectantly.

"W-well…" she floundered, off guard at having such a deep question thrown at her seemingly out of nowhere.

"Never mind, we're here," he announced suddenly, as the car slowed to a stop, "I suggest you think hard on you answer, as my brother will certainly ask you it in a short while."

"Your brother?"

He cast her a sidelong glance before throwing open the door and hopping out.

After just a moment's hesitation, she clambered out after him. Her jaw dropped at the sight that greeted her. Looking to Sherlock with eyes round as saucers, she was just able to catch the smirk that graced his lips (quite odd looking lips they were, but in a way she very much liked).

"Wh-where are we?" she sputtered.

He offered his arm to her, and she laid her hand on it, letting him guide her from the gate down the pathway to the… structure.

"I can answer your question, but it really is best if you let my brother conduct the _orientation_. I think he can answer all the questions you won't think to ask, better than I can." A pause. "But don't tell him that."

They walked in silence the rest of the way, the tall, pale boy moving forward with the singularity of a flowing river, the small, dark-eyed girl with the nervousness of a deer sensing danger.

When they came to the enormous double doors serving as the entrance to the building, Sherlock removed the glove off of his right hand, and laid his palm against the very black polished wooden surface. The doors sprang open, as if pushed by a strong gale of wind, and Sherlock pulled Molly along with him into a hall that seemed to stretch out into infinity.

Almost as soon as they passed the threshold, a voice rang through the hall, coming from every direction.

"What took you so long, brother dear?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for the long wait! It's been a very busy month for me. Things will be picking up from this point on, story-wise. I hope you find it worth the wait.:)
> 
> P.S. All my works are unbeta-ed so please bear with mistakes and inconsistencies.:p


End file.
